All Manners of Necessity
by GonnaBeFamous
Summary: When Hermione unluckily meets Snape a short time after Dumbledore's death, her world comes to a halt as he decides she might serve more purpose to him than he ever expected, and quickly acts on this decision, despite all her protests. HGSS, PostHBP.
1. Unbidden Entry

**All Manners of Necessity**

Chapter 1

Unbidden Entry

**AN: This will be a story branching off the one shot (which I posted in response to a contest). I've kept in the first bit from the one shot, and built on it to make an entire scene. I do plan to write more and have hopes that this will be a story between 10 and 20 chapters.**

To all antiquity readers who will probably receive alerts for this: I am not neglecting AC. I will continue that story, and the next chapter is due out within several days.

Disclaimer: Quite obviously do not own these characters. I just like to manipulate them for my own means.

Warnings: Language, future sexual references/possible conduct, violence, Post-HPB.

**xxx **

A door locked is an inviting mystery begging to be solved. Still more tempting may be the door open where there is an underlying, yet understood, warning which forbids entry.

While most people would simply walk through such a door, Hermione Granger stood outside this one, eyes narrowing as she turned these thoughts over in her head.

Hermione had not been sent by the Order to search for clues, nor had she been given any hope that Snape's office would unseal itself- the man was a powerful wizard, and no one short of the deceased Albus Dumbledore himself could be expected to break through wards such as these. The door was not supposed to open until Snape returned to Hogwarts… yet… here Hermione stood, staring into the dark, seemingly abandoned room with no small amount of intrigue.

Hermione turned her head just slightly to address Peeves, who was hovering over her shoulder. "How did you open this?" Her voice was shaky and unsure, a manifestation of the anxious feelings dwelling within her. On rare occasion had she allowed herself to dream up an opportunity such as this, even for mere speculation.

Continuing to smirk, Peeves flipped upside down and eyed Hermione mockingly, cackling, "Silly little witch."

Irritated, Hermione said in a harsh whisper, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Hermione never received her answer; Peeves abruptly flipped right side up and made a rude gesture at Hermione, disappearing quickly down the hallway.

Confused, and rather annoyed, Hermione turned to face the door once more.

It didn't make any sense. Poltergeist or not, no one should have been able to get the door open. Hermione knew, somewhere within her, that this opportunity was too good to be true. Still… opportunity was opportunity.

Taking a deep breath and steeling her nerves, Hermione crossed the threshold between the corridor and Snape's office. Once inside, she stopped in her tracks, staring around for a moment and taking in the feeling of a fantasy realized.

The pace of Hermione's heart quickened as she took several quick steps to Snape's desk, adrenaline now dictating her actions.

Rummaging through the pile of papers on the desk, it did not take long to come across something of significance. Enveloped and sealed, Hermione found what she could only guess was an unsent letter. It was addressed to no one, and in a quick moment, Hermione decided her only option was to rip it open.

Trembling, Hermione unfolded the letter and peered at the cramped, slanted writing.

_Potter_, the first line read.

Hermione did not read past the first line. No, something else caught her attention. Eyes widening, she moved her thumb to run across the first word on the page.

The ink smudged.

All at once, Hermione was acutely aware of two factors. One, she had just discovered something invaluable. Two, she was not alone in this castle.

From the dark corridor, where a menacing figure hovered in the doorway, two words nearly stopped Hermione's heart cold.

"Miss Granger?"

In several rapid movements, Hermione instantly dropped the letter and reached for her wand, only to have it fly from her hand a moment later. Her eyes flew to Snape almost in question, and he smirked, stepping forward and retrieving the wand that had landed only several metres away from his feet.

"It would have been beneficial for you and your little friends to have paid more attention during my lessons," Snape said quietly, running two slender fingers up her wand and then tucking it neatly inside his sleeve. Buttoned up and repressed as ever, he still wore the robes he'd always taught in at Hogwarts, creating a daunting picture for Hermione.

"I paid attention," Hermione responded, lifting her chin bravely. Perhaps if she just continued on this line of thought, she could figure out what to do… and how to do it.

"The poltergeist's ascertainment was not entirely incorrect," Snape sneered in a familiar way. "You are a silly girl." 

Snape continued to walk forward, enjoying watching this girl, who was normally so self-possessed, shake and tremble as she tried with noble efforts to hide her fear and project an image of cool dignity. He came to stand within inches of her, staring down with his dark eyes into hers of amber, and watching her irises shift ever so slightly from left to right, assessing the situation. His lips curled upward ever so menacingly, and he came even closer, leaning towards her so that she had to lean back against the desk to avoid contact. He placed one hand on the surface behind her, boxing her in.

"Sir, please-" Hermione whispered, reading the look on his face as one of intense sadism and almost as one of desire. She didn't finish her statement; she didn't need to. Snape shook his head almost imperceptibly, and with the hand not resting on the wood, reached behind her and retrieved the letter which had fluttered from her hands only moments before.

"I believe this belongs to me," he intoned quietly, a grin of satisfaction on his face. She nodded and swallowed her relief as he straightened and stepped away from her.

Hermione allowed herself to inhale as Snape turned away from her, carefully folding the letter and tucking it into his pocket. She wondered for a moment if she could make a run for the door—but the chances were unlikely. Snape would catch her, and she didn't want to know what he would do to her then. She had no wand, no way to defend herself against him. As little as she cared to admit it, she was trapped… helpless. Still, she had one advantage. She was hardly inferior in the area of intelligence. In that arena, she felt sure she could contest with Severus Snape.

"I could deliver that to Harry for you, you know," Hermione offered a moment later, feeling it was best to speak while she had the chance. "It would be the easiest way- the Ministry would never have a way to track your whereabouts."

"And who said I intended the letter to be delivered now?" Snape inquired, turning and eyeing Hermione almost mockingly. "You overestimate your value to me, Miss Granger. I am still deciding whether there is an advantage to be had by keeping you, or if I should just dispose of you now."

Though not visibly, Hermione recoiled at this statement. Surely he couldn't mean… he was going to kill her if he did not find some use for her? She knew Snape had never been particularly fond of her during her school years there, but he had never appeared to hate her the way he had Harry, and he'd still refrained from harming him, even when the perfect opportunity presented itself.

"You can't mean-" said Hermione faintly, leaning against the desk for support.

Snape arched an eyebrow, and said, "I can't?"

"No," Hermione answered, shaking her head. "I don't believe you would just kill me- there's no reason. I'm of no threat to you!"

Narrowing his eyes, Snape stared at Hermione for a long minute. "I killed Albus Dumbledore."

She swallowed. "I know."

"So what makes you so sure I won't do the same to you?"

Hermione drew a breath, and knowing she had no choice other than to answer, responded, "I just believe you won't. I can't understand why you would be so ruthless."

"I'm a Death Eater."

"So was Regulas Black," Hermione responded. At Snape's flicker of surprise, she added, "Yes, I know of him. And Malfoy- he was supposed to be… a man isn't defined by one life changing choice; he's defined by what he does subsequently."

"So you believe in my nobility then, do you, Miss Granger?"

"No."

"Then what do you believe in?"

"Your humanity."

Snape's dark gaze lingered on Hermione for a moment, and then he took several long strides across the room and closed the door. He pulled from the corner a chair and in one swift motion, he elegantly seated himself in it. "My humanity," he repeated, pronouncing the words with an ambiguous caress in his tone.

Hermione nodded, but did not verbally respond. She had hoped to reach the softer side of his consciousness. To make contact with the natural goodness she knew was resting somewhere in the depths of his soul was to find her chance at salvation. Only by reminding him that he had a chance at redemption could she appeal to his merciful qualities.

What Hermione did not realize was that in this moment, she was giving Snape exactly what he had been looking for: a reason to keep her. She had proven to him now that she believed in his chance for redemption, and he could think of no one better to perform the functions he required. The only question to be answered was this: would she obey him?

"Sit, Miss Granger," Snape commanded quietly, measuring her expression and gestures with acute scrutiny as she considered her compliance or objection.

Apparently realizing it was in her best interest to comply, Hermione pulled the chair beneath her and sat, watching Snape carefully for some measure of a reaction. She was surprised when his lips curled again into that familiar smirk.

It was a small measure of obedience, but that was all he needed.

"Well, congratulations, Miss Granger," Snape said, standing once again.

"For what?" asked Hermione, furrowing her eyebrows. She did not like his tone of voice. It was far too full of satisfaction.

"You've just proven to me your worth."

"What?"

"You're coming with me, Miss Granger," Snape clarified, stepping over to open the door. "Now, are you going to comply easily and follow me, or shall I have to drag you along myself?"

"Wha- I-"

"This is not up for negotiation, Miss Granger, and I am a man with a very limited time schedule. You'll need to make your decision quickly."

Hermione's front teeth went to her lip and she placed her hands on the desk to conceal the fact that they had begun quaking. She looked away from him, unable to bear his piercing gaze, and swallowed hard.

"Fine," Snape said after a moment, unable to tolerate her hesitation. "We'll do this the hard way—"

"No, please!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping back from his touch and knocking her head against the wall. Her vision doubled and her breathing hitched, and her hand went to the back of her head.

"And they call you intelligent," Snape sneered, reaching for her again.

"Please," Hermione reiterated, voice hoarse due to the dizzying throbbing in the back of her head. "You can't—you can't expect me to just go with you like this!"

"I expect you to come with me—how you do so does not matter to me."

"Why? What do you stand to gain?"

"Answers on a need to know basis only, remember?" Snape stepped closer, and then halted again, eyes calculating thoughtfully. "Though, your compliance would give me more incentive to give you the answers you seek once we've established that you won't be going anywhere."

Hermione opened her mouth to swiftly correct his line of thought; it upset her that he seemed to believe she could be so easily manipulated. Luckily, however, Hermione had never been one to talk before considering carefully what she was about to say, and in the split second it took her to formulate some sort of response, she realized that to openly defy him could be the trigger that sealed her fate. As little as she cared to admit it, he was in control… and she would have to act accordingly.

"Fine, then answer me this." Hermione's eyes watered, but she wiped fiercely at them before tears that had nothing to do with the physical pain she was experiencing could roll down the side of her face. Her voice was choked and her speech shaky and inconsistent, but she held her head high and said as stoically as manageable, "What happens when you're finished with me?"

"Clarify, Miss Granger."

"What do I get for my cooperation? Do I ever get to go back? Do I… do I ever get to see the people I care about again?"

Snape gazed at her from under hooded eyes for a moment, and then nonchalantly tipped his head to the side. "I haven't considered it."

For a brief moment, a shattered look crossed Hermione's face. She averted her gaze from Snape's face and shook her head disbelievingly; she was unsure how she could possibly cooperate if she knew nothing would ever be the same, yet aware of the fact that cooperation might be easier than resistance.

Snape took in her reaction with intense satisfaction, able but indisposed to wipe the creeping smirk from his face.

Steeling her nerves, Hermione redirected her gaze to Snape's face. What she saw there transformed her melancholy indecision to infuriation; her hands curled into fists at her sides, her eyes narrowed, and her brows drew in to frame her expression of extreme aggravation. He was playing with her; she knew it.

"Do you honestly think I don't know that you've already worked out every detail of this kidnapping in your mind?"

"Oh no, Miss Granger, I happened upon you by chance. This is merely convenience."

"As little as I wish to lend you credit for anything, I'm positive that you had a plan the moment you saw me."

A part of Snape couldn't help but appreciate this. He _had_ developed a plan almost the moment he saw her, though it had required revision along the way. Still, he couldn't allow her to know that she was right. Instead, he did what he knew would only serve to anger her further. He ignored the statement. "Have you made your decision yet?"

"You haven't given me much of a choice, have you?"

"If I had, what kind of kidnapper would I be?" Snape responded, finding this more amusing than did Hermione, who scowled disgustedly at him.

"Fine," Hermione bit out in bitter resignation. She gestured sarcastically towards the door, and said, "Lead the way."

"I'm glad you can see reason when it is clearly presented to you, Miss Granger," Snape said, turning and stepping towards the door. He had every intention of checking the hallway for company before leading her from the castle.

This was Hermione's only chance at escaping, and she knew it. Perhaps more out of infuriation than strategy, she cast her eyes around for a potential weapon and, spotting a half-empty jar of ink, promptly grabbed it off of the desk and threw it with full strength towards the back of Snape's head.

Her accuracy was surprisingly precise.

Unluckily for Snape, he heard the commotion that she was making and turned just as the jar came to make contact with the area just above his temple. The combination of pure shock and late reflex resulted in his falling, sprawled unceremoniously on the floor, growling at the girl's audacity and thanking Merlin that she was not particularly athletic.

Hermione, watching with a sense of victory as Snape fell to the ground, darted out from behind the desk and ran as fast as she could towards the door. She took a flying leap over his body, and shrieked as she felt a hand grip her ankle. Her leap fell short, and she met an unhappy landing as her stomach dropped out from her and her face hit the hard stone floor with a loud _smack_.

"You bloody stupid bitch!" Snape snarled, his composure more unrestrained than it had been throughout their entire encounter. He scrambled ungracefully to his feet, maintaining a hold on Hermione's ankle as she groaned loudly and tried to roll over. She attempted to shake her ankle from his grip, but he angrily twisted it until he heard a sickening crack, and spat, "Don't you dare try anything now! You've tested my patience far past its limit."

He stepped over her and stared down into her face, contemplating hexing her, or more satisfying, striking her. His nostrils flared and she turned her head to look up at him, her eyes fearful but resigned. She knew she had no chance now.

He shook his head slowly, knowing he still needed to get her out of this castle. The Order would be realizing soon that she had been delayed, and the last thing he needed was to be caught in the act of torturing her for her incredibly stupid act. He'd already broken her ankle—surely that was enough to subdue her from making any more reckless decisions. She wouldn't get far like that. "You could have had it easy, Granger," he informed her, reaching down and grabbing her by the waist.

"What are you doing?" She protested with her pained voice, trying to squirm away from him without upsetting her rapidly swelling ankle.

"Exactly what I told you I would," Snape informed her, the calm returning to his voice and his face turning neutral again. "Dragging you out of here."

He promptly lifted her up off of the ground and flung her over her shoulder, extremely pleased when she let out a terrified squeak and clung to the back of his robes. Apparently, she did not like heights.

"Comfortable, Granger?"

"No!"

"Ah, that's good," Snape replied, looping his arm around the backs of her knees and gripping his wand with his free hand. He stepped out into the hallway and whispered an indecipherable string of Latin. Hermione's eyes widened when the hallway illuminated blue, streams of light appearing and dissolving again into the square stones.

"You see that, Granger?" Snape said quietly, turning and starting down the corridor. "That is your proof that no one is coming to rescue you."

Hermione had lost hope of that a long time ago—she wasn't expected to arrive at a certain time, or even to check in with anyone once she had finished. No one would miss her until the next morning, when the Order meeting was called to session and her seat at the table in 12 Grimmauld Place was vacant.

Hermione tried to keep her complaints to herself as they took the jaunty trip up the stairs, unwilling to let him know how displeased she was with his method of transporting her. Still, she could not remain completely silent. The pain in her ankle was growing fiercer by the minute, and she could feel several bumps beginning to protrude from her battered head and face. This, being carried over her ex-Professor's shoulder like a badly behaved child, was just adding insult to injury.

"Wouldn't it just be easier to levitate me?" Hermione muttered, hating everything about her current position.

"Instead of letting you suffer the indignity of this position?"

"You're a horrible man."

"I've heard worse."

"I can do worse."

"Try, and watch what the result is."

Because she did not wish to give Snape any more incentive to harm her, Hermione stayed quiet after that. Her temper, however, did not abate by any means. She fumed silently; she would hold her tongue and act as necessary, but she'd be damned if she forgave and forgot.

She was rather surprised when she was rewarded at the gates by being set on her feet, close enough to the black iron bars that she could hold on to them for support. Though his expression was mild as he glanced at her directly before checking the grounds outside the gates for any unexpected visitors, she did not hold any false hope that Snape would correct the damage he'd done to her ankle. It was throbbing wildly now, and she was beginning to wonder if this was something that would correct itself without attention. She would have to convince him that she could be of no use while crippled, but she saved that debate for another day. His expression was neutral—not gracious. She wouldn't push that particular limit on his patience.

"Are you ready, Miss Granger?" Snape asked a moment later, opening the gate and stepping out of it. With a mocking expression, he extended a hand to help Hermione, but she stubbornly resisted the support. She glared at him and lifted her ankle, hobbling feebly out of the protection of the Hogwarts grounds.

"If I said no, would it change your plans?" she asked sardonically, refusing to look at him.

Snape looked at her for a moment, then allowed one corner of his mouth to quirk upward as he inclined his head. "Point well received," he said easily, extending an arm to Hermione. "You'll need to hold on- we're apparating to our destination."

"I had guessed as much," Hermione muttered scathingly, grasping his forearm with an expression of disgust.

"It would serve you well to adjust your attitude, Miss Granger. Your compliance matters little when you are so disagreeable in way of manners."

"Oh, so it's perfectly fine for you to be rude, but not me?"

"That is correct. A fraction of a point to Gryffindor for your astute observation," Snape said smoothly. "And do you know why that is?"

Hermione glared at him.

"Because I am in control. Do not forget that."

Oh, she certainly hadn't, Hermione thought as she moved closer with difficulty. She was too keenly aware of all the miserable things that she, consequently, couldn't do to Snape to forget such a thing. Fighting to repress what would have been a monumental shudder, Hermione placed a hand tentatively on Snape's arm, avoiding his eyes as she did so.

"I'd never guess you were so shy, Miss Granger," said Snape silkily, using his other hand to hook her arm around his own. "Wouldn't want you to get left behind, now would we?"

Regrettably, thought Hermione, such an idea had not crossed her mind. All hopes of escape had departed when he'd caught her the first time; his resulting wrath was enough to deter her from any more wild attempts. Even if she were left behind, what would she do? She was injured and he had her wand.

Snape watched her for a moment, caring little for any response she could give; her expression of defeat was what he cared to observe. He hoped he had made his point by now—though due to her Gryffindor nature, he doubted it would stay this way for long—and that he would not need to keep constant watch over her after she had come to realise her chances were very slim without compliance.

xxx End Chapter xxx

**AN: Reviews are always appreciated, lovely readers. **


	2. Home Sweet Home

**Chapter 2**

**Home Sweet Home**

xxx

The landing was rather harsh. Hermione instantly regretted letting go of Snape's arm so quickly; she placed all of her weight on her bad ankle and an excruciating jolt shot from the very base of her foot all the way up to her knee. It was difficult to decipher where the pain began and ended, and she immediately found herself leaning on her captor for support again. She hated her position. She felt vulnerable and sickened with herself for allowing him to provide her with any kind of strength, however momentarily. She winced as she straightened, still maintaining a firm grip on his arm, and braced herself for the caustic remark that was sure to come.

Snape, however, did not comment on her moment of weakness, nor did he appear to take much notice of it. He almost seemed to have expected it, for his gaze was transfixed on the house in front of them, yet his arm had remained extended to her from the moment they had materialized until now. His eyes were narrowed suspiciously, and he seemed to be calculating something. What, she had no idea.

In a moment, Snape had moved his arm from underneath her grip and taken hold of her arm, steering her over to the gate.

"What are you—"

She was silenced with a glare, but she protested slightly as he rather roughly pushed her down below the level of the fence.

"Quiet," he warned her in a fiercely low voice as he pointed his wand at his house. She turned her head slightly to watch what he was doing; when the house illuminated blue, she knew it was the same spell she had watched him perform in the corridor.

Faintly, and almost to herself, Hermione started, "How…" but at a glance from Snape, didn't complete her question. She winced and tried to pull back as he wrapped his long fingers around her wrist, but thinking painfully of her hurt ankle, offered no more resistance when he tightened his grip. There would be a time to retaliate; now was not it.

"Hell if I'm going to tell you," he muttered, pulling her toward the house.

As she was tugged along, Hermione searched out the area. There was very little chance that she would be getting a view of her surroundings once she was taken inside—that she knew. If she could catch sight of any significant landmarks or identifying geographical sites, she would have a far better chance of getting word to someone about where she was.

Glancing quickly to her left and right, she could see that she was at the end of a long, cobbled street, and though this house was by no means to be described as extravagant, it was at least in better condition than the decrepit, boarded up homes that completed the long row. Their appearances were further dimmed by the dark shadow that had been cast over them by the distant mill looming high above. On the other side of what she presumed to be Snape's home, the road ended, and beyond it was a long stretch of tangled weeds and dying grass, which abruptly stopped where a dense line of thickly trunked trees began. A deep breath told her there was a river nearby; the smell of polluted water and trash infested riverbanks was overwhelming. She closed her eyes and memorized the scent. When she opened them again, she found herself facing the door.

"Welcome home, Miss Granger," Snape said snidely as he lifted the wards.

Hermione took one last sweep of the area, and then allowed herself to be pulled into the house.

A cry of protestation from her ankle seemed to shoot straight out her mouth as Hermione was gruffly shoved to the low sitting couch, and for a moment, she was sure she was about to be assaulted. After several seconds, however, she opened her eyes and lowered her outstretched hands, only to find Snape kneeling before her, inspecting the damage he'd done on her ankle.

"Proud of yourself?" Hermione asked in a low voice, but Snape did not even give her the courtesy of lifting his eyes to her.

"It was your choice to attempt escape," he reminded her unkindly, and she winced as he turned her ankle, with little consideration to the pain he was causing, to continue his scrutiny. "I had thought you were intelligent."

"An intelligent girl would just follow you, then? Like a dog being led on a leash to be put down?"

"Aside from this minor injury, have I harmed you yet?"

"Minor?" Hermione exclaimed. "It's turning purple! And you said you were debating whether or not to let me live—that doesn't leave much room for doubt, does it?"

"It's just a sprain," Snape said, leaving her last question unanswered. "I could give you something to speed the healing process, but then, I'd hate to be accused of poisoning you."

There was a mocking lilt to Snape's voice, as if he found Hermione's fading terror and mounting indignation to be little more than an amusing highlight of what he likely considered to be a brilliant scheme. Hermione's expression darkened, but she refused to speak. She would not feed his entertainment, if that were what he was gleaning from goading her.

"Do you trust me?" Snape asked after a moment; Hermione could not take it as a serious question. He was smirking, and his eyes were sparkling in such a way that she could only guess he was challenging her with the question.

"No," she responded firmly.

"Pity," Snape replied evenly, rising to his feet and turning from her to walk away.

"But I would like that potion you offered," Hermione found herself saying to his back.

There was a halt in his progress, but he didn't turn around. After a moment so quick it could have been imagined, he continued walking, leaving Hermione to sit by herself in the cramped, cluttered, dimly lit room.

Hermione took a glance at the empty doorway once Snape had stepped through it, and then turned her gaze to the door she'd been led in. She wondered briefly what the chances were that he'd forgotten to lock it, and how far she would make it before being caught if he had. She had no wand to Apparate, and her ankle was in too much pain to carry her very far. The mill in the distance and the amount of pollution in the air and nearby water gave her the impression that she was in an area populated primarily by muggles, and any muggle whose attention she could gain would offer her little help if Snape caught up with her.

Her gaze swept the room, and her eyes fell upon a small desk made from bleak, chipped wood. It was not in the desk that she had an interest, however. Upon the desk lay a thick stack of blank parchment, and next to it, a box of inexpensive quills. Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the empty doorway. Deciding she had little to lose, she hastily lifted herself from the couch and quietly, with as much grace as possible on a bum ankle, moved to the desk. She slipped several sheets of parchment off the top of the pile and, after folding them, tucked them into the waistband of her muggle jeans, and did the same with a single quill. Those items secured, she moved with urgency back to the couch and sat down, wincing when the quill jabbed her side. She readjusted it so that it wasn't poking into her ribs, and tried to quell the flush she knew had leapt into her cheeks with the adrenaline rush from that tiny act of rebellion.

It was not long after that Snape returned, a tiny vial grasped in his hand. With narrowed eyes, he seemed to be inspecting her as he came around to face her; his gaze roamed over each of her features, all of which were drawn tight in an attempt to reveal nothing of her emotions—neither the hope she had for reaching her loved ones, nor the despair she felt for the relative futility of her efforts to escape unscathed. Snape seemed to equate her expression to nothing more than a Gryffindor's poor effort to conceal rage, however, and silently handed her the vial filled with hazy green liquid.

"Little sleep will come to you tonight," he informed her apathetically. "It speeds the healing process, meaning a greater dose of pain. Any pain neutralizing potions I could give you would only slow its effects."

"I rather doubt I was in for a night of deep sleep, regardless," Hermione responded dourly, swallowing the vile tasting potion. She blanched slightly, and was unable to stop a gagging noise from escaping, but she was glad when nothing unexpected happened. She looked up to find Snape glaring at her with a contemptuous look of disgust—owed to her graceless consumption of the liquid, no doubt.

"Come," Snape said, turning away from her.

Expression determinedly unchanging, Hermione stood proudly, if not a bit lopsided due to the pressure she needed to avoid placing on her healing ankle. Snape, for his part, surveyed her with a far more accomplished and well practiced expression of neutrality; the undecipherable intent behind his eyes worried Hermione more than she cared to let on. What she might not have guessed, however, was that Snape was merely focused on deciding what to do with her while he placed restrictive wards on the room he'd already chosen to keep her in. He wasn't stupid—far from it—and neither was Hermione. To leave her alone without crushing any hopes she had of escaping could lead to a veritable disaster; if she got word to the Order before he had a chance to carry out his plans, it would be incriminating to the point of no return. It occurred to him that allowing her to live out a night of pain, while it would serve as an effective warning not to attempt escape again, was not nearly as important as keeping her immobile and unable to defy him again while he took measures to ensure both her safety from others who would visit his home and her obedience as long as she lived in it.

Hermione grimaced and shifted her stance. The potion was already beginning to take effect, and what had previously been fading into what she considered a bearable amount of pain was now surpassing the point of what could only be described as intolerable.

Snape noticed her discomfort with grim satisfaction.

"Perhaps a sleeping draught to get you through the worst of it," he intoned. He turned to leave the room, but Hermione's immediate response brought him to a quick halt.

"You must think me completely daft if you suppose I'm going to succumb to a sleeping potion in my current postion. You might do anything while I'm unconscious."

"I might do anything while you're awake," Snape reminded her waspishly, sliding his lips into an unpleasant grin.

"I don't trust you."

"Yes," Snape said, rearranging his face into a look of annoyance. "We've established as much. However, there still remains the fact that you haven't long before mere ache turns into excruciating torture, and you would be wise to take advantage of my generosity."

"Part of your plan, no doubt, to torture me further. You won't break me so easily."

"You are, as usual, correct," Snape said caustically. "My offer to heal your sprain quickly was certainly borne of malice and ill-intent."

"You're welcome to hop off your high horse at any time, Professor," she said with a sneer that Snape would never have considered worthy of a Gryffindor, "and recall that you are the one who caused the sprain in the first place!"

"When you stupidly tried to escape!" Snape spat. "I'm still unsure how you got it into your fuzzy little head that I was willing to kidnap you but that I would not employ violence as a means of keeping you from escaping. Now, you can take my offer of a sleeping draught, or lie here and suffer for the next twenty-four hours; it truly is your choice. But let it never be said that I did not at least attempt to make this easier on you!"

"Yes, how truly noble of you," Hermione muttered. She considered, however, as a loud pop sounded and her pain doubled, that Snape was correct about one thing: There was nothing he could do to her while she was asleep that he couldn't just as easily accomplish while she was awake. She bit her lip and tried valiantly to hide her pain, but Snape was not fooled. He shook his head and called her foolish before sweeping from the room and returning quickly with a second vial. Hermione eyed it suspiciously for a moment, but as another wave of nauseating pain swept over her, she snatched it out of his hand.

Uncorking it, she fixed him with a dark glare. "I swear, if you do anything to me-"

"I assure you, Miss Granger, I prefer my women willing and conscious. Take the bloody potion."

She drank swiftly and sank back onto the couch. Whether the potion or the pain induced her rapid descent into slumber, she neither knew nor cared.

xxx

Hermione woke vaguely aware of her stiff body and the dull, lingering pain in her right ankle. She was less concerned with those two factors than she was with the fact that she was, indeed, still on the lumpy, hard surface that was Severus Snape's couch, and she apparently hadn't changed positions since she'd first fallen asleep the day before. Her hair was arranged in a curly, unkempt mess around her face, and as she moved to sit up, a sharp, stabbing pain in her side told her that Snape hadn't discovered the quill or the parchment she'd stashed in her waistband the day before. Though all these things confirmed that yesterday's events had truly transpired, she could at least comfort herself with the fact that Snape obviously hadn't paid her or her immobile body any attention while she'd been asleep.

With no Snape in sight, she was tempted to rise from the couch and explore her surroundings. Fear of Snape's reaction, however, and limited knowledge of his whereabouts made her feel uneasy about doing so. She moved to a sitting position and readjusted her clothes about her body, taking care that her treasures were still hidden and comfortably stowed away under her many layers. She pulled her nest-like hair into a low, loose bun at the nape of her neck and wiped the sleep away from her eyes. She glanced around for a clock, but saw none. She could assume that since the worst of the pain resulting from the potion she'd been given seemed to have passed already, she had been sleeping for a considerably long amount of time.

"I see you've awoken no worse for the wear."

Hermione visibly jolted at the sound of her captor's voice, and quickly rose from the couch to turn around and face him. Severus raised his eyebrow at her reaction.

"Honestly, Miss Granger, I can't believe you're surprised by my presence. You couldn't have thought I would leave you here unattended."

"A girl can dream," she shot back, quickly recovering her composure.

"I must say, I never believed you were this cheeky," Severus commented silkily. "You always behaved with such...reverence...such enthusiasm in my classes. I rather had high hopes you'd be a far more amenable hostage."

"That was back when I respected you," Hermione responded, unable to keep the quiver of anger out of her voice. Though it was a new day, her indignance at being treated as a captive hadn't faded. "How could you betray us all? How can you be so apathetic?"

"Presumptuous as ever, I see. Haven't changed your colors on me completely."

"Answer me."

Snape's eyes narrowed to dark slits, and he took a step closer. "Allow me to remind you that you're in no position to be making demands, Miss Granger. I will not answer you, for I have a particular aversion towards wasting my time, and the answer you seek is far more complex than anything you could comprehend in five minutes worth of explanation."

"Then at least tell me why I am here."

"You are here because I brought you here," Snape said slowly, as if speaking to a small child.

"Don't mock me, you know what I meant."

"Careful, Granger; you should know me well enough to know I don't tolerate disrespect, and you are crossing boundaries with me that ought not to be crossed."

Infuriation flared up in Hermione's chest; she was so angry with him she could cry from the frustration of it all. If there was one thing that made this situation unendurable, it was the uncertainty she was being forced to deal with. As Snape watched her sharply, however, waiting for her reaction, she knew there was nothing she could say that would improve her situation. For the moment, at least, all she could do was wait, and hope that the answers she sought would come to her in time.

"I will show you to your room," Snape announced momentarily, seemingly satisfied that she'd received his message clearly.

The abrupt end this brought to the conversation unnerved Hermione, and though she had far from forgotten her previous line of questioning, her mind shifted to what Snape had just said. "My room?" she repeated questioningly, following Snape as he had already begun moving toward the stairs.

"Yes, your room," Severus repeated, leading the way. "You didn't think I could have you taking up my couch every night, did you? And furthermore," he said, turning at the top of the stairwell so that she could see his dark smile, "I'll need somewhere to keep you when I have guests, won't I?"

"Keep me?" Hermione exclaimed indignantly, but Snape didn't give her the satisfaction of an answer. He merely smirked and continued walking.

The hallway was straight, short, and windowless. The formerly butter coloured wallpaper was graying and peeling at the corners, and the wood floor was scuffed and looked to be in need of a good polishing. On each side of the small space were two doors.

"My room," said Snape, indicating the first door to his right, "And my library." He indicated the first door on the left. Reaching the end of the hallway, he gestured to the second door on the right, and said, "Lavatory," and, reaching the final door, he pushed it open and said, "Your room."

Hermione glanced at him warily, and he suggested with a jerk of his head that she should step inside. She did, and took a look around.

The room was small, but not suffocatingly so. The walls were painted, not wallpapered, in a simple shade of white, and the ground was made of the same wood as the hallway, but looked cleaner and was decorated with a plain navy area rug. A twin sized bed sat atop it, covered with a white bedspread and two white pillows. Next to it, a small end table with a lamp and a clock. A wardrobe sat on the wall opposite the bed, and next to the window was a small desk and wooden chair.

"This room is for me?" Hermione asked, not having forgotten about her prior indignation, but willing to set it aside for the moment.

"That is what I said," Snape said with some annoyance.

"Am I to be locked in it?" Her tone was grudging, less of a question than a challenge.

"I have hopes that you won't force my hand in doing so," Snape warned subtly.

Hermione sent him a dark look, but said nothing as she stepped further into the room. She ran a hand over the bed and moved to the window; her view was only of the small backyard, and the fields behind it. Nothing…nothing to tell her where she was.

Hermione heard the door click shut, and she whipped around. Snape wasn't in the room, and the door was shut. He was locking her in, the bastard! Eyes widened, she dashed across the room and grabbed at the door handle, tugging hard to affirm that she was—

"Oof!" was the ungraceful sound that escaped her as she landed on her bum. She was wrong. He hadn't locked the door...and he hadn't walked away yet, either.

"Did I not just say to you that I had no plans to lock you in?"

Looking up from her unglorified position on the floor, Hermione saw that Snape was staring at her with some sort of audacious amusement evident on his face. Glaring, and quickly picking herself up off the hard ground and dusting herself off, she retorted, "Why should I believe anything you say to me?"

Snape lifted an eyebrow, and stated simply, "I really have no reason to lie to you."

"Then why won't you tell me what you want from me!"

"Ah, Miss Granger, you ought to realize that there is a difference between lying to you and withholding information you are not yet prepared for."

"And in what way do you plan to prepare me?"

"As always, Miss Granger, you are asking too many questions, and I tire of this subject matter. Now, why don't you take that quill and parchment you so cleverly stole from my desk yesterday and draw up a list of the things you will need while you're here?"

As quickly as Hermione's mouth fell open, she closed it again. "I—how—that is to say—"

"Silly girl. How did you plan to get your word out? With the owl I provided you? Or perhaps you were going to give it to the postman who delivers to all of the boarded up homes on the street. Remember this, Miss Granger. As long as you live in my house, nothing—and I do mean nothing—will remain a secret from me."

Hermione had nothing to say to this. A moment of silence passed between them; Snape seemed to be waiting for something, daring her to argue with him. Hermione, however, was coming to the clear realization that she was really, truly trapped with this horrible man until he so chose to let her go. The truth of the matter was that up until this point, she hadn't wanted to believe that she was really being held captive—it had only seemed like another peril that she would be through with once the Order came to rescue her...but they had no idea where she was. They wouldn't even know where to begin looking.

"I see you're beginning to grasp the concept of being kidnapped," Snape said in a low, almost taunting voice. "Be thankful it's only by me, Miss Granger, and remember that there are far worse fates you could come to than this."

Eyes wide and watery, Hermione dared not to look into the face of this man whom she reviled so deeply. She cast her gaze downward and drew a shuddering breath, to which Snape responded, "Finally speechless. I'll leave you alone now, Miss Granger. You are, of course, free to leave this room as soon as you find yourself desirous of my pleasurable company, but judging by your expression, I've earned myself quite some hours of solitude before you dare to bother me again."

She waited until the door had closed. Even then, she waited until the sound of footsteps, widely spaced and purposeful, had faded. And even when she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was finally alone, she refused to give in to the release of tears. She couldn't afford to break down, not now, when it most mattered that she hold herself together.

Hermione reminded herself firmly that she was stronger than this. She would see this through to the end, whatever that end may be. And, truthfully, in these times of war, she had always been somewhat dubious about her own chances of survival. This was not forever; either she would be released when Severus Snape finally fell, or she would find her release in death. Either way, she was not going to lie down and act as though this was the end of her life. She wasn't going to give in to a tearful fit and resign herself to the worst fate possible.

Wiping her watery eyes on the sleeve of her shirt, she steadied her shaky breath and reached for the doorknob. She'd be damned if she let Snape avoid her questions and talk circles around the things that she most wanted to speak to him about.

The walk down the hallway seemed much longer than it had the first time. She reached the stairs and paused, gripping the railing for support. Before her foot had descended onto the first step, however, something else halted her progress; from the room below came two voices, the first belonging to Snape, and the second, gruffer, someone she couldn't recognize by voice but whom she guessed to be another Death Eater. Carefully, she lifted her foot back to meet the other on the top of the landing, and pressed her body against the wall, listening intently to the conversation that was happening down below.

"-Dark Lord is not pleased-"

"Well, naturally," Snape's voice responded smoothly. "It's been his goal to obtain the girl ever since Potter learned of the Horcruxes. Naturally, she's the only one of the three who could present any real threat-"

"You don't believe Potter can figure it out on his own?"

"I taught the boy for six years, Rookwood. If the wit he demonstrated in my classroom is any indicator, he'll be at a complete loss without the Granger girl. Shame she's gone missing, of course. Any information she could provide would be most...beneficial."

"Precisely why the Dark Lord is so displeased. Severus, do you think one of our own has done away with her?"

"Doubtful," Snape answered.

"Then the missing person report filed at the ministry—"

"False, most certainly," Snape said, traces of amusement evident in his tone. "A pathetic attempt at throwing us off the scent."

"Of course," said Rookwood as if it were suddenly dawning on him.

Hermione began to move down the hall toward her room; as much as she wished to continue listening, she did not care to be caught roaming the halls with another Death Eater in the house, if Snape was going through such pains to hide her existence there. Every footstep she took, she held her breath for a moment afterwards, as if waiting to hear if she'd been discovered. The subtle intonations of two voices continued at a steady flow down the hallway, however, and Hermione repeatedly confirmed that she was safe.

Once she was safely to her room, Hermione closed the door with caution, hoping that the men downstairs wouldn't hear her, and moved to her bed. Lying on her back, she rested her head on the pillows and stared up at the blank ceiling, trying to piece together all the information she knew about Snape and how it was affected by what she'd just heard.

Snape was...covering her up. He'd kidnapped her, yes, but did this mean he was taking measures to protect her from Death Eaters? Hermione couldn't believe that he'd taken her for that very purpose; she wasn't that naive or faithful in Snape's intentions. Still, perhaps this is what he had meant when he had said that she wouldn't be able to comprehend his intentions in five minutes of explanation.

The only thing that she could say for sure was that Snape had taken her for his own personal gain, whatever that was, and most likely not for Voldemort's benefit.

She couldn't quite determine whether that fact comforted or disturbed her more.

xxx End Chapter 2 xxx

AN: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I am a feedback junkie. I would be ever so pleased if you would feed my addiction and leave me a review :)


	3. Witness

Chapter 3

Witness

xxx

Hermione stayed in her room for the rest of the day, and found herself lying awake deep into the night. On any normal day, the boredom would have been unbearable; at this time, however, she found her mind over-brimming with different bits of information to digest; to turn over again and again until she could piece everything she knew together into some sort of well-reasoned explanation.

It was not only the overheard conversation that she had to question. Snape had been, from the very beginning of her nightmare, wary, elusive, and snide. Of course, at first glance, these were simply the Snape-ish qualities that one ought to expect; upon further speculation, however, Hermione was beginning to reason that the man's motivations were slightly more complex than what she had first guessed.

His attempts at intimidating Hermione into compliance seemed typical, a complement to his predatory nature and the flagrancy that characterized a Slytherin. True to form as his behaviour was, however, Hermione had to question why, when she was defenceless and unaided, Snape had not simply stunned her and taken her away, or even worse. If he was not preserving her for Voldemort's own machinations, what reason did he have to keep her unharmed? If not by someone else's orders, why had he taken her, and seen to it that she remained no worse for the wear?

Furthermore, despite all his subtle indications that he was willing to kill her if she did not offer her compliance, Hermione's reflections gave way to the idea that he was perhaps willing to release her when all was said and done. He had not given her the guarantee of freedom, but he had neither denied it. If he had not obtained her for Voldemort and was lying about her whereabouts, he wouldn't be giving her over to them. Either she would die at his hands or she would be released, and for the sake of her sanity, she held on to the belief that he would not murder her without reason.

Lastly, there was still the issue of the letter Hermione had initially discovered in Snape's office. Though she knew too little to guess at its contents, she had to take Snape's intent to contact Harry as another point in her favour. Even if the letter was only intended as a threat to Harry, she had possibly earned the position of leverage, which meant that her safety would be vital to Snape's purposes, and her eventual release would most likely be required for Harry's cooperation. Though it was a situation she didn't particularly desire to be in, it placed her into a position of importance, and her importance to Snape was certainly essential to her survival.

Of course, if she were being completely honest with herself, she only knew enough to take stabs in the dark at what Snape was playing at. But, she reasoned, her powers of logic had rarely failed her before. If nothing else, she had a good basis upon which to build a theory about her captor's intentions.

Only one thing was clear to Hermione: she was being artfully and purposely mislead. She was not simply being lied to; she was locked in an epic waltz with a man who had made a profession out of dancing around all topics of inquiry.

xxx

Severus Snape had never been accused of being a nice man. In fact, most had seen fit to affix him with exactly the opposite descriptions. He'd been called difficult and stubborn by the generous, and callous and cruel by those less inclined. Snape preferred to use the all encompassing adjective of self-serving. Whichever qualities seemed best suited to serve his purposes, he assumed them.

He felt it essential now, however, to veer from his usual list of descriptors and allow himself to be viewed as somewhat merciful. Certainly not kind, but less harsh than he usually behaved. He felt it would behoove him, at this point, to earn not only Miss Granger's compliance, but perhaps her eventual gratitude for his consideration towards her.

It was with this in mind that Snape approached the Granger girl's room that morning.

She did not respond to his first knock. Similarly, she ignored his second and third. By the fourth, Snape's resolve to behave civilly was dissolving, and he was bellowing through the door all sorts of threats that he felt sure would scare her into emerging.

He felt a bit taken aback and very foolish when she emerged from the bathroom behind him, giving him a look of somewhat dubious nature, and said coldly, "Can I help you, Professor?"

Snape narrowed his eyes and made a low growl in the back of his throat. Hermione raised her eyebrows, clearly unimpressed, and waited.

"I will have company this afternoon," Snape stated. "If you plan on eating today, you may want to do so now."

"Is that all?" Hermione asked flatly.

This was not the reaction Snape had been looking for. He had expected something similar to the way she had behaved the day before, when he'd shown her to her room. Surprised. Taken aback by his extreme generosity. No, there was none of this to be found in little Miss Granger today. She was wholly ungrateful and indifferent to his attempt at treating her like a human rather than a mere hostage.

It was unbelievably irritating to him that he should be taking such pains to give her food and living room, and she treated these things as though they didn't matter; as though she deserved everything he gave her in the first place.

She obviously had no idea how prisoners were normally treated.

Impertinent little imp.

"I'll expect you downstairs in fifteen minutes," was Snape's terse reply. For a moment, Hermione looked as though she were going to defy him. A moment of silent debate with herself, however, and apparently her hunger won out over her obstinacy. She gave him a curt nod that he felt certain she must have learned from himself, and promptly closed the door in his face.

Exactly as he thought. Impertinent.

It mattered little, he convinced himself as he turned and headed down the hallway. He would allow her this small display of defiance; there was no quashing it in a Gryffindor. In fact, he felt he could gleam some satisfaction from knowing he had stirred the girl to erecting such defences in his honor. She knew she had no choice but to obey him, even if that didn't mean she had to like it.

Snape considered, as he sat down at the small, rickety wooden table in his cramped kitchen space, that he was perhaps allowing this girl too much luxury by allowing her to have her own room and even inviting her to eat with him. However, logic told him that to starve the girl could possibly poison her mind against him. The last thing he wanted was to give the girl more incentive to escape.

Not that he believed there was a great possibility of her success anyway.

A small portion of fruit and a plate of eggs sat across from Snape, turning cold as he tucked into his own meal. He hadn't bothered to place a warming charm on it; it was the girl's own fault if she ignored his order to come downstairs promptly.

Exactly ten minutes later, Hermione appeared in the kitchen. Snape ignored her as she took the seat across from him. She watched him warily for a moment as he continued to eat his breakfast.

"It's not poisoned," Snape growled between bites, leveling her with a glare as he stabbed another piece of cantaloupe.

"No, I don't believe it is," Hermione agreed, though she still didn't begin eating.

Snape grunted, lifting an eyebrow and giving an irritable jerk of his head, but returned to his meal rather than responding further. He apparently had no interest in Hermione's reasons for refusing to eat. She sat quietly, hands folded in her lap, watching him for the duration of the meal. She never took a bite, and he refused to pay her any attention, though annoyance was visibly etched into every line of his weathered face.

Finally, as Snape finished off the last of his breakfast and Hermione's had grown cold before her, he said icily, "If you think you are impressing me, I must inform you that you are failing miserably." He rose from the table and vanished his mess, continuing, "When you are finished with this childish display, I suggest you return to your room. Visitors will be arriving any time after noon; your presence would prove quite the inconvenience, and you can be assured it is in your best interest to cause me as little trouble as possible."

It seemed strange to Hermione that Snape would not simply tell her the real reason he wanted her back in her room: he was hiding her from his fellow Death Eaters. This much she knew; she laid no claims to understanding his reasoning behind it, or how it would play out in the long run, but she understood very well what a precarious position her presence in the house placed him in. She supposed he didn't trust her with the knowledge that she could easily ruin his place in Voldemort's circle.

She was mildly irritated that he apparently didn't lend enough credit to her powers of intellect to realize that she understood the danger of the situation for herself as well as for him.

Snape didn't appear to be paying any attention to her watchful glare as he exited the room. In fact, he appeared to be resolutely ignoring her entirely. Hermione huffed and stared down at her plate, and then pushed it away. She had very little appetite; greater things were on her mind than her stomach.

Against her better judgment, Hermione followed Snape into the front room, where he was already seated on the couch with a worn book in his lap. He threw an irritated glance over his shoulder at her, but said nothing as she came to stand directly behind him. He apparently had the idea that if he ignored her, she would go away, but Hermione was not so easily deterred. She leaned over slightly, attempting to catch a glance of the page he was reading, but Snape quickly snapped the book closed. He didn't turn around for an instant; involuntarily, Hermione's breathing audibly hitched.

"Miss Granger," Snape drawled slowly. Hermione took a single step back without ever having decided to do so. It was an instinctual reaction to his dark tone of voice; a step away from Snape was a step towards self-preservation.

"It seems to have escaped your attention," Snape said after a decidedly long pause, with a deliberate quality to his speech that gave Hermione the impression he was weighing his every word carefully, "that I am no longer your Professor. You are no longer my student; I am not being paid to suffer your many interruptions and idiosyncrasies. It is not my job, nor my inclination, to protect or coddle you, and you certainly shouldn't expect half the amount of civility I managed to offer you at Hogwarts."

At this point, Snape rose from his seat and turned to face Hermione, whose apprehension showed plainly on her shining face. His expression was one of malice: black eyes narrowed, upper lip lifted into a well-practiced sneer, thick eyebrows drawn low and tight upon the bridge of his hawkish nose.

"I harbor no amount of fondness for you, Miss Granger, and have no particular concern for your well being, nor for the cares of your family or friends. Clearly, you have some romanticized notion of me in your mind that allows you the luxury of feeling safe enough to challenge my patience. Let me disabuse you of such fallacies. I will provide you with food. I will provide you with shelter. I shall refrain from various forms of torture and murder _so long_ as you prove you are worthy of such mercy. I will not provide you with companionship. I will not provide you with unlimited fountains of information. I will not abide by defiance or unnecessary annoyances. Your relative happiness and ability to continue living depend solely upon my complacency with our current arrangement. Tip the delicately balanced scale of my tolerance, Miss Granger, and I promise you shall suffer most exquisitely."

Hermione Granger did not like Severus Snape. Whatever credit she had once lent towards him in his favour she was immediately revoking.

Snape did not seem interested in her response. He did not wait for her to regain her composure or deliver a rebuttal; he took his withered, nondescript leather-bound book from the couch and moved to the small desk across the room.

Unnerved, but wholly determined to see this through, Hermione remained rooted in her place. Snape was writing now-what, Hermione had no idea-and had returned to ignoring her.

"If you could just tell me why I'm here, and what is going to happen to me-"

"Has it occurred to you that I may not be the ultimate authority on those answers?" Snape asked suggestively, quill never leaving parchment as he continued his task.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She would not be mislead, and that was precisely what Snape was aiming to do. She hated being lied to; it was something she could not abide by under any circumstances. Trepidation gave way to indignation as her temper flared, and she smartly retorted, "Ah, so whose council should I be seeking, then?"

"Surely the answer is obvious," Snape intoned.

"No, I don't think so," said Hermione, stepping around the couch and taking a seat. She could be as nonchalant as he could; as long as his temper was held at bay, she would continue to press her advantage.

Snape did not push his lie any further. It seemed his object was to mislead, or to omit, but not to make any direct admissions which might be proved false in the future. Hermione reminded herself that Snape was experienced in the trade of treachery.

Minutes upon minutes of silence stretched on. Snape seemed content to continue about his business, while Hermione's vexation mounted. How could she possibly learn anything if Snape continued ignoring her? If she was stuck with him, she could learn to accept it. If she knew what was to become of her, she could end her terror and anxiety and concentrate on getting through this. If there was one thing Hermione felt she was lost without, it was most certainly knowledge.

A groan of frustration escaped her, and she pushed her hair back from her face with both her hands, resting her elbows on her thighs and cradling her forehead. There was a pause in the scratching of quill against parchment, but it resumed so quickly it might have been imagined.

"What do you want from me?" Hermione asked from her place on the couch, attempting to mute the fretful tones in her voice. No answer came, and she inquired, "Leverage?"

Snape finally stopped his writing, looked up as though thinking to himself, and then slowly and thoughtfully answered, "No."

"Knowledge?"

Snape smirked to himself and returned his eyes to the parchment. "No."

"Sex?"

"Are you offering it?" Snape asked without missing a beat.

"No!" Hermione cried, indignant.

"Then, no," Snape replied without looking up, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"What, then?" Hermione asked, an almost pleading quality to her voice.

Snape finally set down his quill and looked around at the girl, watching her carefully. What he saw in her expression did not surprise him, nor did it soften him. She looked simultaneously angry, scared, and unsure of what was to come, and there was a detectable glint of moisture in her eyes that he could tell she was trying unsuccessfully to withhold.

Snape took a moment to consider. The girl was more persistent than he had expected; he had always known her to be determined, but the temerity he was observing in her now paled in comparison to what he had previously seen of her brash and audacious nature. This fact remained: he did not yet know if he could trust her to go along with his plans. In actuality, he felt she was now in limbo between utter defeat and utter defiance; he did not want to push her in one particular direction so much as he wished to steer her away from both. He had hoped that by ignoring her, that by giving her time to adjust and treating her well without being kind enough to draw suspicion, she would become more docile and easy to reckon with in the coming weeks. However, he saw now that she would have none of it if she didn't first gain something in return.

It appeared that Hermione Granger was smarter than he'd thought.

He considered keeping his purposes unknown; let her fear him and his intentions. Let her worry day and night whether he would force his way into her bed. Let her stay on guard at all times, guarding whatever information he might find useful. He had no care for those things- they, like she, were of little concern. Still, the thought did not escape him that she was incredibly clever, and perhaps her power, coupled with the support of the order, was not to be doubted. Her compliance would be necessary in any perilous situation, especially one when his presence would be necessary to ensure her safety. Despite all his efforts to scare her into good behavior, it was not his goal to harm her, or bring her to any untimely end. Quite the contrary, he needed her alive and well when all was said and done.

"I need a messenger," Snape said at last, turning his body completely towards her and folding his hands calmly in his lap. It wasn't quite true-what he really needed was a witness for when all was said and done-but it was believable, and he couldn't reveal his true intentions just yet. Her blank expression at this told him that she did not understand, but as her eyebrows lowered, he could see that she was trying to work it out in her head. He nodded slowly, as if to encourage her comprehension in some way.

"What do you mean by 'messenger'?" Hermione finally asked a moment later.

"I feel it critical, Miss Granger, that I give information on a need to know basis only. You will understand in due time," Severus informed her, unwilling to answer her question. "All you need to understand is that as long as you obey me, your life is in no danger, and neither are the efforts of your dear friends."

"As long as I obey you?" Hermione repeated indignantly, some of her panic forgotten in favor of incredulousness.

Severus threw her an annoyed look, and turned back to the letter he was penning. "I tire of your presence now, Miss Granger. Why don't you go spend some time in your room?"

"I will not," Hermione objected, rising to her feet.

Severus gave her a doubtful look. "Somehow, I think you will."

"As you said," Hermione said pointedly, "I am no longer your student, Professor-"

"And yet you call me Professor."

"Stop! You don't have any right to order me around like this-"

"Granger," Severus growled, weary of her antics. Did she honestly believe she was in control of this situation? He had thought he'd set her in her place a mere fifteen minutes prior. How quickly she had forgotten. "Surely I mustn't reiterate. I have neither the time nor the inclination to tolerate your fits of temper. You are not a guest in this house, you are a prisoner and somewhat of an inconvenience. You are no match for me, girl; you are neither my physical, magical, nor intellectual equal. Add to that sum, you have more than me to fear. Consider another Death Eater should get his hands on you. Who would help you? Me, who is part of an alliance in which my protection of your life would be repaid with my death? Do you suppose you could protect yourself? "

"You wouldn't hand me over to them," said Hermione, though she herself was unsure of the truth of this statement.

"Perhaps not," said Snape to a surprised Hermione, who had not expected his agreement, "but they could very easily take you from me if they discovered you were here."

Momentary astonishment rendered Hermione speechless for a moment. There it was: Snape had seen fit to reveal to her that she was being kept for only his purposes. Recognizing her opening, Hermione opened her mouth to urge him to expound on the subject. On a second thought, she snapped it shut. More than she needed to know his purposes, she needed to know what his intentions were for her in the long run.

"And you do not plan on telling them?"

Snape frowned and crossed his arms, eyeing Hermione shrewdly. He supposed that if she felt a sense of security at least in this aspect, she might be more apt to cooperate with him to prevent her discovery and lend to his purposes.

"Miss Granger, one thing I will promise you is that I will not hand you over to such a fate. However, this is provided you work with me to keep your presence here discreet. You must _listen_ to me, Miss Granger, at all times."

"And I will live?"

"As long as the choice is mine to make."

Hermione regarded Snape for a moment, evaluating his level of sincerity. Her conclusion was that he was serious about this, if nothing else. His expression showed no traces of mockery or deception, and for the first time since she'd been there, he was speaking to her as though they were on the same level.

A moment later, he was tapping his wrist and reminding Hermione of the time, issuing an order for her to return to her room.

Having pushed her luck enough for the night and wanting to prove that she grasped the concept of making herself essentially undetectable, Hermione went without complaint, though she couldn't quite shake the feeling of having lost something by submitting to his will so yieldingly. Snape did not mock her obedience, however, and Hermione forced herself to swallow her pride as she shut herself in her room for the second night in a row.

xxx

Snape's eyes followed Hermione's rigid movements as she mechanically made her way out of the room and up the stairs. He could tell it was difficult for her to obey him without question; of course, he would have expected nothing less. If her years at Hogwarts were any indicator of what to expect from her in terms of behavior and attitude, he had thus far been lucky. Of course, he reflected, she had been surprisingly self-restrained throughout their conversation, at least according to his prior expectations. Her persistence had persuaded him to give her eagerly sought answers to her questions earlier than he had planned to relinquish them, merely for the fact that he had not believed she would yet be able to comprehend them. It seemed, however, that knowledge had a greater effect on her than intimidation: all his attempts to scare her into submission had only pushed her further towards defiance, whereas understanding had rendered her more subdued.

Not only was she a more intelligent girl than he had really given her credit for, she was also much more reasonable. Or so it seemed.

Yes, the more Snape reflected on her behavior, even with the limited amount of time he'd had to observe her, the more he believed he had been correct: she would be perfectly suited to his purposes. He would slowly feed her information, treat her less like a prisoner and more like a confidant, and earn her trust. Trust would evolve into loyalty, and finally, that loyalty would make her the perfect candidate to defend his honor after the war was finished. If all went as planned, when the Dark Lord fell, she would be there to attest that all his work had gone towards defeating him. It would be difficult, of course, but then, manipulation was never quite simple. He would have to play his hand very carefully, and be sure not to show his cards too early. If she knew what he were planning...if she recognized his intent...if she believed him insincere, in short, he would never be able to sway her to believe otherwise.

It occurred to Snape that he would have to begin swaying her earlier than planned. He had counted on her irrationality more than any other factor; from what he remembered of her at Hogwarts, he had always assumed her to be as impulsive and impertinent as Potter and Weasley had been. She had been undeniably brilliant, yes, but he had assumed that this only extended towards her studies. If she were blessed with common sense to match her book smarts, he had formerly reasoned, her voice of reason would have carried more weight with the idiots she consorted with. Now, upon realizing his assumptions had been wrong, he shuddered to think about the magnitude of the trouble her two comrades would have gotten up to had she not been there at all.

Since he had been decidedly wrong in his assumptions, he would have to immediately alter his present intentions for the girl. The sooner he gained her trust, the better; he could not risk waiting, for to continue to treat her callously would most certainly deepen her resentment towards him. In fact, he considered, he would begin said alterations once Avery concluded their business later this afternoon.

Yes, Snape thought as he closed his book slowly and rose from his desk. Once he began, Hermione would shape into the perfect witness. The perfect witness indeed.

xxx End Chapter 3 xxx

AN: Thank you for reading! I would, of course, appreciate any reviews you would be generous enough to send my way :)


	4. Time

Chapter 4

Time

xxx

"The Dark Lord is pleased with Rookwood," Avery muttered resentfully as Snape placed a steaming cup of tea before him and took a seat across from his guest. "If he would tell me whatever it is he told Rookwood, I'm certain I would prove just as valuable..."

Snape gave him a slow nod, taking a long sip from his own cup. He didn't respond immediately; in truth, Avery ought to have been thankful not to have been set such a task as Rookwood. It involved the Horcruxes, and Snape knew that Rookwood had been bound by an unbreakable vow not to speak of it to anyone other than Snape or the Dark Lord himself...and he also knew that Rookwood would most certainly be killed as soon as his purpose had been served, whether he was successful or not. Mindful of the fact that he could not say such a thing to the man sitting in his living room, however, Snape replied at length, "You know it is not your place to question your Master's purposes, Avery. Trust that the Dark Lord is blessed with more powers of foresight than yourself."

"Of course, Severus," Avery responded immediately, and Snape detected a glint of fear in the man's eyes. "You know I would not question...I only meant, I wish to serve a higher purpose. To fulfill the Dark Lord's desires is my highest calling."

Snape knew that Avery's unease was due to the fact that Snape had recently become the Dark Lord's most highly ranked servant in the inner circle; to gain his approval was of utmost importance to any Death Eater who wished to continue in the Dark Lord's service. Snape had no interest in relaying Avery's wishes to Voldemort, however. The man was of neither threat nor annoyance, and so his death was of relatively little interest to him.

"As it is for all of us, Avery," said Snape, who wished to steer the conversation away from the task to which Rookwood had been set. "Now, tell me. How is Draco's training progressing? I have it on authority that you have been assisting the Lestranges."

"The boy shows certain reluctance, still," Avery told him, disapproval evident in his expression.

"In what way?" Snape questioned sharply.

"He has yet to successfully produce a killing curse on anything larger than a mouse, much less the countless muggles we've provided him with as targets for practice. He's been well versed in tactics of torture, but seems incapable of reproducing them on his own victims... He hasn't got the nerve for it, it would seem. Sicked up several times in the last week alone."

"And what of the Dark Lord's reaction?"

"He is growing...impatient."

"Naturally," said Snape, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. Impatient, he thought, was too mild a word. He would not allow Draco indefinite time to progress; the boy would meet his end sooner than later if he did not learn to produce results. In fact, the only reason he had been allowed this much time was his family name, but even that was losing ground with Voldemort. The Malfoys had repeatedly disappointed him, and their value to the cause was dwindling by the day.

"Perhaps if you were to take over the training..." Avery carefully suggested after a moment, watching Snape's reaction intently. "The boy respects you so. Your influence could only produce better results."

"Until the Dark Lord wishes it, I will not interfere."

Avery nodded, and then said solemnly, "I don't believe he wishes to see the boy succeed."

"Nor do I," Snape agreed, though he soundly wished this wasn't the truth. The Lestranges had been unable to make much progress with the boy, and Draco had been repeatedly punished for his failure. Avery had hit it on the mark: the boy simply didn't have the nerve. Snape strongly suspected that the Dark Lord was using the boy's training to induce misery for both him and his family. Eventually, he would take the boy's lack of results as an indicator of the family's worth, and murder them.

"Lucius is still asking for you," Avery told him, breaking through Snape's thoughtful reverie. Snape looked up with interest.

"Does he know the Dark Lord has forbidden it?"

"Yes."

Snape shook his head silently. These were truly desperate days when Lucius Malfoy was locked up in Azkaban, begging for a word with Severus Snape. He supposed the man believed he was owed something. In the days when Voldemort had first risen to power, their roles had been reversed: Lucius had been Voldemort's right hand man, and Snape had been the snivelling, needy servant who had yet to prove his worth. Lucius had given him a leg up, recommending him for important missions and speaking well of him to their master. What Lucius didn't realize, however, was that even Snape wouldn't be able to make the Dark Lord believe in the redemption of the Malfoy name. He viewed them as a lost cause, and was toying with them more for entertainment than anything. Otherwise, Lucius would have already been released, and would be at liberty to prove his worth once again.

"Lucius ought to be reminded to whom he answers," said Snape as he cleared their empty cups.

"Is that the message you wish me to relay?" Avery asked delicately as he stood, correctly taking the clearing of the cups as a dismissal.

Snape nodded. "And tell him that everything we discussed is falling into place."

It was as specific as Snape dared to be when dealing with another Death Eater, but he trusted that Lucius would get the message. Standing, he saw Avery to the front door.

"It was good speaking with you, brother," Avery said as Snape opened the door for him. He stepped out onto the front landing.

"Always a pleasure," Snape responded, giving him a nod of goodbye. Avery returned the nod and turned to Apparate, and Snape closed the door behind him.

Locking the door against both intruders and as a cautionary measure for Hermione, Snape turned and went into his kitchen. Remembering that Hermione had refused to touch her food that morning, he quickly prepared a sandwich and a cool glass of milk for her and headed upstairs. It was time to put his plan in action.

He knocked twice before she responded, grudgingly inviting him in. He opened the door and found her lying on her stomach with her feet at the head of the bed, perusing some book that she had obviously found in his library.

"What is that?" Snape asked with narrowed eyes, his tone reminding Hermione distinctly of her days at Hogwarts.

"You never told me I couldn't," Hermione said quickly, tightening her grasp on the text and scrambling into a sitting position; she looked somewhat fearful of his reaction.

"That is true," he said slowly, considering her as he approached. Holding out his hand, he gestured for her to hand over the book. From the way she was clutching it to her body, he was given the distinct impression that she felt it was her lifeline. He nearly scoffed at the notion, and motioned for the book again, more insistency in his expression. Letting out a huff of irritation, she slowly released it to him.

Inspecting the tome, he saw that she had chosen a relatively harmless volume. Looking from her crestfallen expression to the text, he nodded as he handed it back to her. "Take care that I do not catch you with anything...undesirable."

"I'll leave your Dark Arts books alone, Snape, don't worry," Hermione said darkly, jerking the book from his grasp. He raised his eyebrows, but did not comment on her attitude. Instead, he turned from her and set the food he'd brought on her nightstand. He noticed her sparing it a glance, but when he turned back to her, she averted her eyes from it resolutely.

"Starving yourself won't do either of us any good, Miss Granger," said Snape, careful not to let his irritation edge its way into his voice. "You must be hungry."

"I'm not."

"Don't lie to me; you're not very convincing."

Hermione took a moment to glare at him before leaning back against the headboard and resolutely cracking the spine of the book to fall open on her lap. Decidedly ignoring his presence at the end of her bed, she redirected her attention to her book.

It seemed to Snape that Hermione was going to be more difficult to sway than he had thought. He had assumed that this small act of kindness, bringing dinner up to her and allowing her to read his books, would have softened her attitude, but she seemed determined to keep him at a distance. He would have to adjust his approach.

"It seems I was not entirely fair to you earlier, Miss Granger," Snape said after a moment of watching her read. She did not look up at him, but he noticed that her eyes had stopped roaming the page before her. Taking this as a sign that she was listening, he continued. "I suppose it is not unreasonable to answer your questions, as long as they only concern things directly related to you. I perhaps did not stress enough that your safety is one of my greatest priorities at this point. That may not be exactly what you are looking to hear, but to offer you more specific details could compromise both of our situations. I hope that this will at least offer you some comfort."

He had expected a reaction of surprise, or at least a softening of her attitude. Hermione's face became resolutetly hard, however, and she asked harshly, "What are you playing at?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, I don't quite understand your meaning," he lied.

"You know exactly what I mean, and don't pretend otherwise," said Hermione, swinging her legs from the bed and turning to face him. "You've been nothing but unpleasant-not that I would expect anything else-and suddenly you're worried about my comfort? What exactly do you want?"

Severus heaved a dramatic but believable sigh, and folded his arms across his chest. "It has not escaped my attention that you will be staying with me for quite some time. The prospect of sharing a house with a resentful woman is not an entirely pleasant one."

The sharp laugh that escaped Hermione was somewhat unnerving, for Snape had never seen this side of her. "Do you honestly think that by assuring me safety you can erase my resentment? You kidnapped me, Snape! Sprained my ankle, carried me out of the castle, attempted to threaten me into submission, and plan to use me for your own selfish purposes. But now that you've realized I can't be intimidated into bending to your will, you've decided to try a little honey instead of vinegar. I'm not stupid, Snape. If the prospect of sharing a house with an unpleasant woman bothers you, here's the one and only remedy: release me."

"You know that I won't," said Snape.

"Then I suppose we're at an impasse," said Hermione.

"Very well," Snape said stiffly, stepping towards her door. "If you truly do not wish me to attempt to improve your standard of living and treat you respectfully, I suppose it is your choice. But Miss Granger, be wary of this: I will not initiate any more peace offerings. When you have decided to take me up on this one, you may let me know. Until then, I suppose you may continue to enjoy the solice of your room. Good night, Miss Granger."

And before Hermione could get a word in edgewise, Snape had snapped the door shut behind him, leaving her to sit upon her bed, staring at the spot where he had been standing a moment before. As she listened to Snape's footsteps fall as he moved back down the hallway, Hermione crossed her arms in front of her stomach and considered what had just transpired. She supposed, upon reflection, that she had behaved rather rashly; though she was still incensed at his attempts to manipulate her, it dawned on her that it would have been wiser to accept his offering while continuing to privately resist his control over her. Rather, she had taken the route of boldly asserting her intelligence and gaining only the outcome of losing what little kindnesses he had chosen to bestow upon her. In retrospect, she hadn't ever stood a chance of using such an argument to gain her freedom.

_How very Gryffindor_, Hermione privately sneered to herself in perfect imitation of Snape.

Lying back on the bed to stare at the plain white ceiling, Hermione reminded herself that she didn't need Snape's courtesy, especially if only extended to her out of a desire for persuasion. She might have responded rashly, but she supposed that kindness from a man she so greatly disliked wasn't too much to lose. She huffed and turned over on her side, finding herself staring at the sandwich he had left for her. For a moment she considered throwing it out into the hallway, unwilling to accept anything he offered her...but as her stomach gave a loud growl at the thought, she quickly pushed the idea to the side and sat up to eat. It wasn't until she had taken a bite that she realized how hungry she had become. Her meal was gone in a few short minutes, and she returned her attention to her book. She smirked to herself as she flipped through the pages; with the size of Snape's library, he could ignore her all he liked.

As the next few days passed by, however, and Snape made no more visits to Hermione's room, she began to realize the extent to which he was going to take this if she didn't make the first move. She hadn't eaten except for the half-eaten box of stale crackers she'd found in his barren cupboards, and Snape had locked the door to his library against her. She was bored, hungry, and overall, very frustrated with her situation. Every time she heard footsteps falling in the hallway, she perked up slightly, thinking he was on his way to ask if she had reconsidered...but his steps always fell short of her room, the silence followed by the close of a different door. There were moments when weakness threatened to overwhelm her, when the desire for food or even for entertainment seemed more important than her pride...and then she reminded herself of the reasons for which she needed to prove a point to her captor. To her, this was a matter of strength and vulnerability, of resolve and capitulation...she felt she was willing to make the sacrifice to prove her strength of character. It was mind over matter.

On the third day of her isolation, these ideas were failing her. Try as she might, she couldn't quite remember the logic that had led her to self-induced starvation and mind-numbing boredom. It was with the gut-wrenching feeling of surrender that she rose from her bed and moved to the door. It was with pain that she detached her sense of pride from her ego and stepped into the hallway. It was with extreme anxiety that she moved down the stairs, casting her eyes around for Snape. It was with her proverbial tail between her legs that she entered the kitchen after discovering the sitting room empty, to find Snape seated at the table, a generous portion of steak and kidney pie steaming in front of him as he contemplated the latest edition of the Daily Prophet.

He waited until she had come to stand directly in front of the table before setting down the paper. Then, with the air of sudden realization that she was standing there, he said, "Ah, Miss Granger! Still alive, I see."

"Yes," Hermione said tersely, unable to keep her greedy eyes off of his meal. He noticed her looking, but merely smirked and returned to reading.

Hermione waited for him to re-acknowledge her, but he seemed intent upon making her ask not only for food, but for attention as well.

"I'm...I'm very hungry," Hermione said after a moment, to which Snape responded:

"Are you now?"

"Yes," Hermione said through gritted teeth.

"Manners, Miss Granger," Snape tutted mockingly, his smirk growing into a grin of satisfaction.

Hermione considered for a moment turning and heading back to her room. She realized, however, that this would only be more painful the second time around, and she couldn't go without eating another day.

"May I please eat?" Hermione asked, mentally kicking herself when the question escaped her sounding much more earnest than she had intended.

"I suppose that depends," said Snape, setting down the paper. As his dark gaze came to rest on her, she realized that she had preferred speaking to him when he was dividing his attention between her and his reading. "I would hate to be accused of manipulating you."

Hermione fought against rolling her eyes at his rather obvious indication that he wished her to ask his forgiveness, and settled with folding her hands in front of her and gazing down at them. As she had suspected, this show of submission prompted him onward.

"Could it be that you are now regretting your rather hasty response of several days past?"

"I suppose I was...rather rash," Hermione said slowly, not daring to look back up at him lest he suspect her insincere.

"Sit down, Miss Granger," commanded Snape, flicking his wand at the chair, which slid out for her.

Hermione did as she was told, and was surprised when a meal identical to Snape's appeared in front of her. She looked at it hesitantly, and then picked up her fork and muttered a reluctant, "Thank you."

"I have told you that I do not wish to make your stay here entirely unpleasant. I simply ask that you extend to me the same courtesy."

Snape said no more on the subject, but Hermione was involuntarily grateful that he had eased the shame of capitulation by accepting her small admission as an apology. By the end of the meal, which they finished in not entirely uncomfortable silence, Hermione was in a far more generous mood, and offered Snape a small and guilty smile as he cleared her plate for her. He returned it with a nod, and said as he turned away, "If you would like to select another book from the library, I would be willing to accompany you while you do so."

"Why do you need to accompany me?" The words spilled from her mouth before she could put a stopper in them, and Snape slowly turned his head to glare at her.

"Do you wish to select another book, or do you not?" He asked quietly.

"I—yes."

"Then I suggest you mind your manners," he said coldly. "Or have you forgotten your lesson now that your stomach is full?"

"Apologies, sir," said Hermione stiffly, swallowing her irritation for her own sake. "I would very much like some more reading material."

"Very well, then," Snape responded, sweeping at once from the room. Assuming she was meant to follow, Hermione at once stood and hurried after him.

As Hermione approached the door Snape held ajar, she couldn't help but fall prey to the wave of resentment that washed over her as she observed the way he was watching her. It was a look of pure amusement; almost as though he regarded her as a dog to which he had offered a biscuit. Still, she could only avoid his eyes as she slipped quickly past him and into the room.

Instantly, she knew this would from here on out be her only tether to sanity. It was a small room, yes, comparable to the rest of the house, but shelves upon shelves held enough books to keep her busy for what seemed like an eternity. Forgetting almost immediately why she had ever felt even the slightest twinge of annoyance, Hermione began to peruse Snape's vast collection of books. A great deal of time passed before her thoughts returned to Snape himself, and as this thought came to her, she realized that he was still standing in the doorway, leaning almost elegantly against the door frame. His dark eyes were resting steadily on her, his thoughts indecipherable. Taken aback, she stood with her gaze locked with his for a moment.

"Do you like what you see?" he asked silkily, and there was a smoothness to his voice that she had not noticed before.

Blinking furiously, she responded, "I… what?"

One eyebrow lifted. Next, the corner of his lips. And then, his hand, as he gestured to the room behind her. "My collection," he said simply, looking around. "Do you find it satisfactory?"

"Oh," Hermione responded, with uncharacteristic daftness. Nervously, she lifted her hand to her hair, more for something to do than with any hopes of smoothing it down. "It's quite large… I'm not sure where to start."

The other corner of Snape's lips quirked, a full-fledged smirk upon his face now. Hermione blushed furiously.

"You're not the first person to tell me that," Snape responded, moving towards her. Hermione took a step back, not knowing how to respond, but Snape glided past her, moving resolutely towards the back wall of literature.

Hermione watched as Snape deftly selected a book from one of the top shelves. The book fell open in his hands, and his eyes drifted quickly over the page. Snapping it closed again, he turned and handed it to her; she snatched it up, burning with curiosity. One glance quickly told her what she needed to know.

"This is about dark magic!" Hermione practically cried, thrusting the book back into Snape's hands as if it would burn her if she held it too long.

"It is _not _about dark magic," Snape replied evenly, annoyance playing on face. "It is about dark magical _items_. It should prove a rather _educational_ read, and one you just may want to finish quickly, at that."

Hermione frowned, but did not protest as Snape pressed the book back into her hands. At once, she decided that she should at the very least read it over, if for no other reason than to decipher what exactly Snape was getting at.

"Fine," she said slowly, though she was still holding the book as though it were a fragile object. "And if I decide I do not wish to read it?"

"Then you are welcome to select another book," Snape stated simply, and, after a moment, added pointedly, "After all, it's not as if you will be lacking in time."

Hermione frowned deeply, but did not respond. Holding the book in her hand, she turned and moved into the hallway, standing as she waited for Snape. He closed the door behind him and then, much to Hermione's chagrin, took out his wand to re-lock the door. Seeing her expression, the smirk she was coming to despise returned to his face.

"Oh, come now," he said in a low, mocking tone. "What do you expect? You are still a prisoner, after all."

For a moment Snape stood before her, almost as though challenging her to respond. Hermione, however, firmly kept her mouth shut, clinging to the book as though afraid he was waiting for a reason to yank it out of her hands. Her horror at the thought of studying Dark Arts was fading quickly, and instead she was simply glad for something to occupy her otherwise wasted time here.

After a moment of silence, Snape seemed satisfied that she would not defy him any further. "Perhaps you should take solace in your room," he suggested then, and Hermione balked at the suggestion that he assumed she would rather do anything but. "I have some pressing matters to attend to."

"Gladly," Hermione retorted, though as she spoke, she was displeased to hear her tone sound much more snippety than cool, as she had intended. Still, she whirled around in a fashion that she was sure should have made even the Potions Master himself jealous, and returned quickly to the room to which she had been confined for the past three days.

As she closed the door behind her, Hermione realized how grateful she had been to spend some time outside of this confined space. Still, she could not dwell on that. She threw herself upon her bed and opened her prize to the table of contents, scanning the page for something of interest.

Within moments, Hermione's eyes zeroed in on one word in the middle of the page. _Horcruxes_.

"What?" Hermione said in a confused whisper, flipping immediately to the page specified. There, before her eyes, was a wealth of information about the exact topic she had hoped to help Harry learn more about. But this was not about how to destroy them… this was about how to avoid being hurt by them.

But why would Snape have given her such a useful tool when she wasn't even allowed to contact Harry? Was it to taunt her with information that was now useless? Was it to tempt her into acting rashly, for some purpose she could not yet see? Was she misinterpreting the meaning entirely; was this book a warning that there were many cursed objects within the house, a warning not to go hunting through any of his things?

In an instant, Hermione was on her feet, crossing the space between the bed and the door in three strides; her hand rested on the door handle as she contemplated her next move. Should she confront Snape, ask him what exactly his meaning was?

Had he already told her?

He had suggested she read the book. And quickly, he had added. Why?

Her hand fell from the door knob, and she stood in her place, bewildered. In that moment, she was certain that no amount of questioning would persuade Snape to explain his purpose. No amount of intelligence on her end could interpret his intent without some clarification from the man himself. What she could do was take what he had said very literally; perhaps, if she did so without questioning his motives, she could make better sense of the circumstances.

Reluctantly, Hermione swallowed her urge to demand answers. Forcibly, she calmed her overly active mind and put a halt to the series of questions dancing about her brain. Slowly, she returned to her place on the bed and reopened the book she held in her hand. Obediently, she began to read, and quickly. Truthfully, she told herself, she had nothing to lose by reading before asking questions.

After all, all she had was time.

xxx End Chapter xxx

AN: Please Review, and I'll be eternally yours :)


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